


Engorge Me for a Moment

by Aris_Silverfin, FatlocknDomJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Bloating, Fat John, Fat Sherlock, Fat fetish, Fatlock, M/M, Smut, Vampire AU, because why not, belly stuffing, fat vampires, roleplay turned fic, rp fic, shifting pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 02:37:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12122694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris_Silverfin/pseuds/Aris_Silverfin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatlocknDomJohn/pseuds/FatlocknDomJohn
Summary: What if vampires were depicted as nicely fat instead of the boring skin and bones variety?What if a young, spoiled nobleman named Sherlock Holmes caught the attention of one of these beasts?Smut. Smut and kink is what.RP turned fic for your reading pleasure. Lots of fat admiration, fat characters, and bloating bellies within.





	Engorge Me for a Moment

**Author's Note:**

> John played by Aris _Silverfin  
> Sherlock played by FatlocknDomJohn

He hadn't eaten a single bite all night.

His waistcoat strained and bulged, the buttons tight against their holes, the fabric skin tight against a great round orb of belly and the subtle swell of soft tits behind it.

He hadn't drunk a drop of the fine wines, the excellent beers, or the astonishing array of liqueurs from all manner of countries near and far.

His slacks looked ready to split at the seams or at the very middles as they stretched and strained around thick fat thighs and a truly entrancing arse. He jiggled as he walked, his wide hips rolling with a slow confident amble and despite his size he never seemed to make a sound even on the hard wood of the dance floor as he cut across it. The dancing couples parted easily before his singular gaze, a stare that seemed to shorten the distance immediately, as if he were currently nose to nose with the object of his interest rather than half a room away. His long coat swirled at his sides, fluttering around his bulging middle and straining waistcoat, the double chin at his shirt collar jiggling, plump cheeks beneath his mask. But he did not seem soft or welcoming as he ambled ever so slowly towards his quarry. His prey.

"Hello. Don't think I've had the pleasure of seeing you at one of my parties before," He murmured, voice deep and low but managing to slither to the other man's ear even in the cavernous room of the aged castle as he poured him a deep red glass of wine.  
"But you have a look about you... the younger Holmes boy? Charmed," he said, offering the glass for him to take, eyes never leaving the holes in the other man's mask.

 

Sherlock Holmes should not be here.  
He'd wanted to scope out his idiotically massive brother, specifically the way he treated Sherlock’s former bodyguard, now the human version of an overfed golden retriever, Greg Lestrade.

In the four months Lestrade had been dating Mycroft the two of them had put on nearly one hundred pounds. The sight of the massive guts, swishing and jiggling next to one another on the dance floor made him....sick?

No.

Jealous.

But it was...odd. Thinking deeper, his "brother" had never seemed to age a day as he grew up. Always the same portly man with a high hairline and a nose like a beak. His round, fat middle straining his waistcoat. His wide bottom swaying up and down the halls of Holmes manor to berate servants that displeased Mummy or Father in some way. The same wrinkles of his forehead folding up in exasperation as Sherlock wrapped himself like a snake around his pot-bellied bodyguard and hissed for him to go away. It was almost if Mycroft was...ageless. Eternal. And perhaps all younger siblings see that but...  
Well Sherlock was a grown man now, and suddenly Mycroft and his former bodyguard were more round and spry and ageless than ever. So he'd snuck into a party he shouldn't be at, filling his own soft, spoiled little stomach with appetizers, his black suit straining around his growing, greedy tummy, bubble butt filling out his trousers to the point of screaming.

Sherlock jumped as the massively fat man appeared before him. He drooled.

"I...y-Yes. Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes." He said, trying to smile, looking over the miles and miles of enormous, gorgeous blonde before him, imagining tasting every inch of his lard, his hands spreading the man's monstrous arse and-

He coughed, accepting the wine, taking a large sip.

"My um...brother invited me." Sherlock lied, his fat little middle quivering as he popped in another stuffed mushroom, watching the soft men and women in the great ball dance and twirl, losing sight of My and Greg.

 

"That so?" The stranger smiled, collecting a small sampling of finger foods and passing Sherlock the plate. "Well I'm glad of it. Ages of the same parties, the same faces, the same couples... it does drag on after some time. I’m tempted to do away with the whole ordeal out of boredom, frankly."  
He chuckled low in his throat and his massive belly hopped and bounced. His eyes trailed hungrily over the younger man's body, softly swollen with an easy, rich life. Decadent softness just where he liked it. Soft. Biteable.

He licked his lips and held out a hand to take Sherlock's.

"Baron Watson. But you may call me John. Despite your name definitely not being added to the list," he purred, dipping his head to trail his lips over Sherlock's knuckles. The urge to bite was stronger than it had been in years. He was so hungry. So thirsty. So wanting. Only interesting lives made for satisfying meals.

"How did you get past my doorman?"

 

Sherlock took the plate eagerly, gobbling up the food presented quickly to calm his nerves. His belly swelled, gurgling lightly in complaint, buttons spreading ever so slightly. He blushed behind his mask, a dark blue slash that only covered his eyes and a bit of his forehead, beautiful from a distance, but clearly thrown together from the discarded masks of noblemen and women outside the castles walls

Sherlock’s heartbeat quickened.

John.

So familiar a name for so foreign an entity. And a Baron at that. The Holmes were far lesser nobles than he-

The doorman.

Sherlock swallowed. "Slipped passed as Duchess De La Marché made a scene about losing her invitation. She's quite the fury when scorned." He gulped, not sure if the kiss was an invitation. Or a threat.

 

John stared at his visitor a moment then broke into a booming laugh, smiling genuinely at the man, though not releasing his hand.

"Oh, you are brilliant," he murmured, "Extraordinary."

He wet his lips again and leaned a bit closer. "What do you say you and I take leave of the rest of these boring well-to-dos and... have a more interesting discussion?"

His eyes flicked up to catch Sherlock's. "Bring a plate. Meet me in the room at the end of the hall. Down the left at the top of the stair."

And then he was gone, slipping easily back into the crowd and out of sight in but a moment.

 

Sherlocks eyes went wide. His heart pounded. He eagerly filled up a plate, hurrying after John eagerly, completely forgetting the men he'd come here to see. Not even noticing that Mycroft had Greg pinned to the far wall, the grey haired man moaning as Mycroft’s mouth worked his neck...

 

The room was dimly lit in a soft red glow. A fire crackled and popped in the grate, leaving the room almost too warm on the rather mild summer night. It seemed to invite the removal of clothing, sweat, and sin.

John had relieved himself of his coat and was pouring more wine at the bedside of a towering four poster bed, draped in rich fabrics. His waistcoat looked all the more strained, himself all the rounder and plumper, his waistband moments from snapping open and letting all of him spill out.

He had removed his mask, his noble features now easily seen, buried as they were in decadent plumpness. But his eyes were sharp and found Sherlock the moment he entered with predatory quickness.

"Ah good, not a man to waste time I see." He smiled again, the firelight glinting on his teeth.

 

Sherlock froze in the doorway. Trapped by fear and lust, he walked in almost against his better judgment. John was truly massive. Sherlock’s hands itched to explore every inch of his massive, flowing form. So hard and dangerous, so soft and pliant. He was handsome, almost devilishly so, and Sherlock’s first instinct was to suck in his fat little tummy, but to no avail.

He crossed to be closer to the man, setting his plate down, accepting another glass of wine as he shed his own mask. Features pale, a glass statue. Beautiful and delicate, but sharp.

He took another long drink of wine.

"Not when I'm interested." Sherlock offered, smiling.

 

John chuckled, moving closer, trailing a hand along Sherlock's sleeve.

"Good. I'm the same way. Do make yourself comfortable. It's boiling in here. You must feel molten."

He spread his hand across Sherlock's chest, feeling the buttons strain beneath his fingers as he pressed him back against the wall, crowding into him, their middles brushing. He slipped Sherlock's jacket off his shoulders. That neck. For a moment John only heard the other man's heartbeat pounding in his ears, his thirst screaming. But… all the better to wait.

He swallowed and took the wine, placed it on the mantle, then trailed his hand back up over those straining buttons.

"I'm glad we understand each other," he murmured, undoing the man's collar, his fingers cold against Sherlock's hot soft chest.

 

Sherlock gasped, excited

"Oh lord, yes!" The plump noble swallowed, his hands finding John's love handles, squeezing roughly, only letting go a second as the man stripped his coat away.

"I-I...I haven't been with a man since university. And I admit I was less...cushioned then." Sherlock flushed, grabbing his fat tummy, giving it a soft jiggle, the buttons of his waistcoat creaking at the movement.

 

"Lucky me," John purred, kissing his way down the man's chest and belly as the buttons sprang free under his fingers. He paused to nuzzle and nibble at the soft flesh of the man's middle, careful not to pierce his skin. Not yet.

He growled eagerly, reaching around behind to grab Sherlock's arse as he straightened again. His own portly body squashed flush with Sherlock's, his cock hard and pressing into plump thighs.

 

Sherlock gasped, moaned. His mouth found John's neck, kissing and sucking a mark into the man's cool flesh.

"John, you are wearing far too many clothes." The chubby noble grinned. He rolled his wide arse, daring to puff out his pudgy middle.

 

John groaned, seizing that little chubby middle in both hands and giving it a hard squeeze.

"That makes two of us, posh boy," he growled, then kissed him hard, hungrily, pinning him against the wall with his own huge round middle. He stepped back and tore off his waist coat, his belly spilling forward, the buttons on his undershirt gaping. He toed off his shoes, kicking them across the room, before turning around and marching towards the bed, dropping his trousers as he went. His wide soft arse jiggled and shook, thighs rubbing together richly. He flung off his shirt with ferocity and his belly at last hung free, wobbling and bouncing in the open air. It settled into his lap as he sat back on the bed to tug off his socks.

"Now you," he commanded, lounging back to watch. One hand trailed down over his stomach and began playing with his deep navel.

 

Sherlocks mouth fell open. He'd never seen a man of such size. Such girth. Such...Appeal.

He shed his tortured waistcoat, then his shirt. His fat, round, pot belly wobbled out into the open air, sighing as it bulged with his swishy love handles over the edge of his trousers.

He slipped off his shoes, making a show of turning around and bending over to take off his socks, wobbling his bubble butt into the open air.He gave it a slap, dropping his trousers and pants before turning.

Fat and naked, he strutted to the bed, slim cock growing hard as John fingered his deep navel, licking his lips as the man's lard spread out beneath him

 

John let out a deep hungry growl.

"Come here," He beckoned, sitting up, his sides turning into soft pliable rolls, his gut settling proudly in his lap, just capable of obscuring his raging arousal. He pulled Sherlock to him, worshipping the man's belly with his lips and mouth and tongue, squeezing at the soft love handles, using them to pull him closer and nearer. He nibbled and mouthed and groaned, then pressed the man onto the bed and spread himself over him, kissing him deeply as his fat belly pressed down upon him and squashed about him, his massive hard cock leaking against the other man.

"You are beautiful," John growled, rutting against him so that his weight jiggled and shook, "Fuck, you are gorgeous. Perfect. Pristine."

He licked a stripe from Sherlock's ear to his collar bone, shivering as he felt Sherlock's hot pulse against his tongue.

 

Sherlock moaned and groaned. He felt squashed, crushed. John was massive. Everywhere. Flowing around him like the waves of the sea. He threw back his head, exposing more and more of his pristine, soft, pulsing neck, veins bulging as blood rushes southward

"J-John! Yes!!!" He begged, grabbing at every handful of the massive man he could find

 

John smirked.

"Inviting me in?" he murmured, almost a whisper. He brushed his lips along Sherlock's neck again, pinned him down with more of his weight.

Then he bit.

And started to drink.

He moaned loudly at the warmth, the sheer richness of Sherlock's lifeblood. It was enough to make him heady, to make his toes curl. He moaned again and kept drinking, gulping greedily, his body thrusting against Sherlock, his knuckles white against the bedspread as he drank and drank and drank. His belly was filling and expanding, bloating as if he had consumed a monstrous feast of his own. But he didn't stop. It was too good. Too delicious, so rich. His belly gurgled.

 

Sherlock bit his lip.

Pleasure pulsed through him. He came in an instant, then he was hard again, awash in pure ecstasy.

He grabbed for every part of John he could find, arching his back, his swollen middle kissing John's further.

"J-John!" He gasped, feeling heady, light.

 

John groaned in response. Another swallow and he might burst. He came wetly against the other man, shuddering and shaking, choking on a belch. He moaned and pulled away, gasping. He barely remembered to to seal the wound, dipping his head and licking away droplets of blood. He was so full, so incredibly swollen with his gorging. His arms trembled and he shifted to his side, collapsing onto it. The mattress creaked in protest. He belly spilled out before him, part of it still resting on Sherlock, heavy and so round it was nearly spherical, the navel stretched tight.

"Oooh… don't think i can move," he groaned, rubbing the side of his bloated middle. He belched and the organ gurgled in agreement. He reached out to rub Sherlock’s chest gently. He hadn’t had a meal like that in centuries.

“Stay?” he muttered, the order sounding oddly like a plea.

 

Sherlock felt dizzy. Sated but aroused, his hands found Johns perfectly spherical middle, rubbing at it.

"Mmmm," He purred, snuggling in closer, further under John's girth, heart pounding as he heard the mattress creak beneath their weight. Beneath John.

He swallowed hard, pinned beneath his new lover, heady with happiness.

Gods, he loved parties.


End file.
